Hot, hot, hot, here, and on the way home, I stopped for an update on the baseball trades and a glass of something cool. Too soon for anything serious, so I picked the cheapest white on the list. Moved into the TV room walking past a couple enjoying a bottle of something white. Smelled awfully good, Riesling for sure, aromatic, complex, flinty.

Sat down, cheered the Abreu deal, looked around to see if the couple had moved. Nope.

There was one of Theise's Germany catalogs on the book shelf -- I engrosed myself in Theise's writing, and forgot about that wonderful trade. Great wines, great writing, example:

"Soil...is a wine's DNA. It is the fundamental building block of that wine's identity. Elvis is Elvis. Some years it rained and he was thin Elvis; some years it was hot and he was fat Elvis. He was sometimes drunk Elvis, sometimes sleepy Elvis, or cornball, sleazy, charismatic or horny Elvis. In fact it's safe to say that he was every imaginable variety of Elvis his temperament could contrive. But always, he was Elvis."